


Smile, Darling (to the song of your madness)

by Gothic_Lolita



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Romance, Descent into Madness, F/M, First Kiss, Harley!Sophie, How Do I Tag, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, No Beta or Editing We Die Like Men, Post-Joker (2019), Slow Build, Sophie-centric, i needed to get this out because no one else is talking about this concept okay, mostly exploring sophie's personality and her descent into madness, since all we got of her was through Arthur's fantasies, this fever dream has been in my head since i saw the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 23:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21364150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gothic_Lolita/pseuds/Gothic_Lolita
Summary: It all happened so much faster than it should’ve.The murder of a host on his own talk show, Gotham’s descent into madness. Well, Gotham always seemed to be descending into some kind of madness, but this kind seemed to be something more. The crowning of a new king always had to bring some kind of new era, didn’t it?Some kings wore crowns. Some wore face paint.Still, the feeling of Gotham taking so quickly to embrace it, the murders and the blood and the violence, felt like it should’ve meant something. Like it should’ve made a change. Something should’ve felt… different.But it didn’t. Save for clown masks found on the streets, everything felt the same.Sophie felt the same.Well, Sophie felt the same, until she didn't. Until she learned to dance Arthur's tune.
Relationships: Sophie Dumond/Arthur Fleck
Comments: 6
Kudos: 74





	Smile, Darling (to the song of your madness)

**Author's Note:**

> Is the concept of making Sophie into a 'Harley Quinn' problematic? Maybe, but I don't care and will use fanfiction to live out all of my fever dreams. Because this was all I could think about seeing the movie. And like, here's the thing. I like the concept of Joker/Harley, but I want that relationship to be able to exist without the abuse and this was my spin on it, while still trying to let Sophie exist as her own character. It just seems like a lot of the Arthur/Sophie fics are so nice and domestic with fix-it AUs, but I want BLOOD and MADNESS. Basically, I wanted to explore what Sophie could've been if the movie built on her character more. 
> 
> Okay okay, I'm done rambling, here have the fic.

It all happened so much faster than it should’ve.

The murder of a host on his own talk show, Gotham’s descent into madness. Well, Gotham always seemed to be descending into some kind of madness, but this kind seemed to be something more. The crowning of a new king always had to bring some kind of new era, didn’t it?

Some kings wore crowns. Some wore face paint.

Still, the feeling of Gotham taking so quickly to embrace it, the murders and the blood and the violence, felt like it should’ve meant something. Like it should’ve made a change. Something should’ve felt… different.

But it didn’t. Save for clown masks found on the streets, everything felt the same.

Sophie felt the same. 

Which was strange to admit. A world of clowns and riots every other weekend and her life went mostly unchanged. So did everyone else’s. Sure, everyone had an opinion on the clowns, but no one was really that affected unless they were the sort of people who deserved it. 

Sophie didn’t exactly believe in the riots. She didn’t have an opinion on them at all, to be honest. They existed and people died, but at the end of the day, as long as she and Gigi were safe, that was all that mattered to her.

Gigi. 

Sophie still spent late nights standing in Gigi’s doorway, watching her sleep. It was a habit she couldn’t break after Arthur had broken into her home and proved how easy it could’ve been to kill them.

Arthur. Joker? Sophie wasn’t sure what to call him. His name was plastered all over the news, but it seemed like the people had already forgotten it. Arthur Fleck didn’t matter. The Joker was their king. They didn’t care about Arthur.

Still, Sophie cared about Arthur. In a strange sort of way, at least. It wasn’t quite pity, but it was something. Something that made her wonder about him a lot. Wonder why he’d broken into her apartment only to leave when she asked, why he snapped the way he did on the Murray Show, why he didn’t just reach out to Sophie for help when he could’ve been saved.

Could he have even been saved? Maybe. Maybe not. It wasn’t Sophie’s place to wonder, and it definitely wasn’t her place to fix him even if there’d been a world where she could’ve.

He was what he was, and Sophie was what she was.

“This morning, we have reports of yet another riot. The number of casualties is still unknown but-”

Sophie glanced down at her static-filled car radio to glare at it, just for a moment, before shutting it off. “Shut the hell up,” she murmured, to herself really. A part of her idly wondered if Arthur spoke to himself some times. 

Not that it mattered, did it? Sophie could only frown at her thoughts.

* * *

Arthur was in and out of Arkham like it was some sort of game. Not that he really seemed to have much say in it. As soon as he got in, his followers would break him out.

It made Sophie wonder sometimes, about the actual security of Arkham Asylum. If Arthur could get out, it wouldn’t be too long until others got the same idea.

There already were copycats trying to do what Arthur did. They were a dime a dozen, and most faded as quickly as they came. They did come and go with hilariously pitiful names though, like ‘Penguin’ or ‘Riddler’. But they did prove a point.

Anyone could put on a mask, but it took a certain kind of insanity to spark a movement.

They were all just attention seekers, and none of them got anything more than a side column article in a secondhand newspaper. It was satisfying, somehow, to know that they weren’t anything special like Arthur, whose face could never seem to leave the news.

“Mommy, doesn’t he live down the hall?” Gigi asked, pointing to a mugshot of Arthur on the screen as a newscaster talked about how he’d escaped once again.

Sophie looked up from the dinner she’d been cooking. Her head tilted to the side, just a bit. “He used to be.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Gigi’s childish mind that never lingered on any topic for too long and she went back to the doll she’d been playing with. It was a raggedy looking thing, with red and black fabric stitched together in a checkered pattern and a jester design.

He used to be. Sophie had no idea what state Arthur’s apartment was in now, and it’d be terribly ironic if she broke in to see it. It was technically a crime scene anyway since they found the dead body of one of Arthur’s coworkers in there.

So many people of Arthur’s past seemed to just turn up dead. Even his mother’s death was now being investigated for malicious intent on Arthur’s behalf.

And yet Sophie, Sophie was just fine. Arthur had broken into her home but he didn’t kill her. What kept Sophie up at night more than the thought of him coming back was the question of why he’d been there in the first damned place.

In some recording, Arthur said he killed those who wronged him. Who wronged the people. Had Sophie wronged him? In all honesty, she didn’t know. She’d been kind to him on the elevator, and she replayed that day over and over in her head.

She thought about the finger gun, too.

Of course she did since it was what Arthur had done, sitting on her couch.

Sophie wondered, before the Murray Show and before he came out as the Joker if it was a cry for help. If he was suicidal if he wanted Sophie to help him. She wondered what would’ve happened if she had tried to help him that day.

It wasn’t her place to fix him.

And even if it was, would she want to? Should he be fixed? Sophie didn’t know. The riots were so violent, but they meant something. They gave Gotham something to believe in. Gotham, a city so bleak and used to hopelessness was now painted with masks and battle cries. It was misguided sure, but what revolution didn’t shed a little blood?

Maybe what kept Sophie up at night wasn’t contemplating Arthur’s ideals, but rather her own, as she stared at the ceiling with a blank face. 

* * *

“It’s fucking sickening. People die and they just laugh.”

Sophie looked up from her desk to see her coworkers arguing.

“I think that’s the point, Jan. They’re clowns.”

Jan, an older and portly woman with glasses on a chain and hair dyed a sickly yellow to hide her greys, made a face. “Clowns don’t kill. They’re violent psychopaths.”

“Yeah, that’s the point, Jan,” Emma repeated, making a face. Emma was a young intern, invested in far too many social issues and injustices with a fiery flame that would spark out too quickly if she kept up like this. “They’re trying to make a point. A statement! There’s a class disparity and no one’s doing anything about it!”

Jan’s disgusted face didn’t change. “If they want to change their lives then they’ll do it as the rest of us did. Get a job and build some skills. Killing rich people doesn’t change that they’re poor.”

Emma groaned. “That’s not the point, Jan!”

The argument droned on, a buzzing in Sophie’s ear that made her oddly understand why Arthur would kill people. They were so goddamned annoying.

Both of them were right, in some sort of capacity. It was about making a statement, but Sophie was pretty sure that some days, it was just violence for the sake of violence. Anger for the sake of anger, to let out all of the coiled rage that life gave a person.

Sophie paid attention to the clowns that got caught. They were normal people. A high school teacher, a lawyer, a janitor. People whose lives would’ve been uneventful, without the Joker. Sophie wondered if it was worth it, to them. If the fleeting moments of the freedom were worth the years they’d spend behind bars.

Well. They wouldn’t actually. Arthur was many things, but he seemed to be loyal. If clowns got arrested for something he supported, he usually broke them out. They were almost a family of sorts, that all had Arthur to look up to and get protected by. At first, it could’ve just been for the publicity, but Arthur did it so often and so casually that it seemed to be genuine.

Arthur cared about people. Not all people, but who did, really?

In a way, Sophie sort of admired his dedication to it. Whether or not he meant to start what he did was debatable, but he took it in stride. 

The thought, for some reason, made Sophie smile. 

* * *

“Come on, it’s time for bed!” Sophie laughed, chasing Gigi around the living room with outstretched hands.

“No!” Gigi shrieked, letting out a fit of giggles when Sophie finally caught her. 

Sophie kissed her forehead. “Come on, Gi. Put away your doll and brush your teeth.”

Gigi made a face, picking up the black and red thing. “It’s not a doll. It’s called a harlequin.” She said the word slow and careful like she was proud of it. “It’s a servant, supposed to make people laugh.”

“Doesn’t matter what it is,” Sophie said. “Shoo!”

Gigi made a face and stuck out her tongue, but ran off to the bedroom, leaving the toy on the floor and conveniently forgetting to brush her teeth. The light to her room snapped off before Sophie could catch her, so she only leaned against the wall and sighed. 

The silence of her apartment was deafening. It was one of the nice things about having Gigi. She brought a light and purpose and love to Sophie’s life. She made all the hard work and late nights worth it, to come home to a perfect little angel like that.

Still, she couldn’t fill all the holes in Sophie’s life. It wasn’t her job, and Sophie’d be cruel to put that onto her.

So instead Sophie was left alone in an apartment too small and too run down, listening to the bass of the music from her downstairs neighbours, staring out the window into a desolate city where police lights always seemed to be flashing. 

It wasn’t the life Sophie had ever imagined for herself. 

Sophie wasn’t sure where she was going when she walked out of her apartment, but she was definitely going somewhere.

She wasn’t that surprised with herself either when she ended up in front of Arthur’s old door. 

It wasn’t hard to pick out, with yellow tape crisscrossed over the front and a broken door lock from it being kicked down by the police. It was avoided by everyone in the complex, with only fleeting looks and shuffled footsteps when it was passed.

And here Sophie was. Standing in front of it. Grabbing the door handle. Walking into it. 

When Sophie flicked on the light, she wasn’t too surprised by the smear of blood across the floor and wall in the doorway. She looked around, walking into the apartment and shutting the door behind her.

Oh, how irony was a funny thing.

The contents of the fridge, drawers and shelves and all, were strewn onto the floor in a hazardous mess. When Sophie stepped over the mess to open the fridge, she found it empty and dismal looking.

It was about the size to fix a person if they curled in on themselves. 

The rest of the apartment was depressing and already ransacked by the police. Everything was old and worn like it’d needed to be replaced generations ago. Sophie thought her life was depressing. But this? It was enough to make anyone snap. 

The place hadn’t been touched by the clowns, either. They didn’t care about Arthur Fleck nor the broken remnants of who he was at a crime scene. Nobody would really care about the worn-out drapes, the scent of smoke, the empty bottles of pills.

Well, Sophie cared. In a strange sort of way, she cared. It mattered to her, getting to know Arthur a bit more in the smallest ways. It was comforting.

Sophie stepped right through the blood and was almost disappointed that it was too dried and old to leave footprints in her wake. It wasn’t her style anyway, too grand and dramatic and symbolic for Sophie. 

Sophie wasn’t made for explosive, chaotic gestures. Her whispers no one ever heard meant more than her screams that tore out her throat ever could.

Walking back to her apartment was as much a mindless task as leaving it was. Sophie wasn’t even really thinking about anything. What was there to think about? The crime she’d so casually committed? The growing emptiness inside of her? The name that couldn’t leave her skull?

She didn’t think. Instead, she cleaned up dishes from dinner, did the laundry, put away Gigi’s toys.

And she paused, on that stupid doll.

Red and black. It certainly suited Sophie’s style more than the green. Not that she had anything against it, per se. Sophie just didn’t want to copy Arthur. She wanted to be beside him.

“Harlequin,” Sophie whispered. 

The ghost of a smile on Sophie’s face was the most genuine thing she’d felt in a while.

* * *

Arthur was in Arkham. Again. And Sophie was starting to get a little sick of it. 

So somehow, she ended up at the doorstep of a nondescript looking warehouse, banging on the door. 

It was a common secret where the clowns worked. Because, to be fair, it wasn’t like the police were about to break into a warehouse full of psychopaths willing to commit murder. Half the cops were scared of the clowns, and the other half agreed with them. 

The faceless mask that answered the door was an image Sophie had grown used to. It was nice, but still nothing more than an imitation. “Do you need something?”

Sophie looked him up and down. Besides the mask, he looked like a normal person. They were all just normal people under the masks, weren’t they? “I want to come in,” Sophie said, with more force in her voice than she intended.

There was laughter. “You sure you ready for this?”

“I’m sure.” Sophie nodded. 

The man stepped aside, and Sophie was let in.

The warehouse was full of people. All wearing masks, doing whatever random things occupied them. If not for the masks and weapons strewn about, it might’ve almost looked quaint and homely. 

“When are you breaking him out?” Sophie asked, looking over at the man walking beside her.

He laughed again. “Tonight. The truck’s packed and ready.”

“Are there any spots still open on that truck?”

“Not for a newbie,” he scoffed. “You think we trust just anyone with the king?”

Sophie looked up at him. “I want to help.”

The man shook his head. “And you can, by working your way up the ranks like anyone else. Know your place, girl.”

“Isn’t that the opposite of what you preach?” Sophie dared to play devil’s advocate. “That the little guy deserves to make it to the top?”

The man stopped walking. He stared at Sophie for a long moment, making her acutely aware of the gun sticking out of his belt. She wondered what Arthur would do if he found out one of his henchmen killed her.

Then, he laughed. “You know what, fine. Truck leaves at ten, whether you’re on it or not. You wanna prove yourself to the king, go right ahead, girl.” He gestured to the warehouse. “Take a gun or two. You’ll need it.”

Sophie nodded and gave him a smile that felt too tight and sharp for her face. “Thank you.”

That was… easier than expected.

Sophie grabbed a handgun and shoved it into her purse without much thought. She started back towards the door, but a hand landed on her shoulder.

“Hey,” the clown said. “Here.”

She turned to see him holding out a spare mask. Sophie looked down at the mask for a moment, then back up at him.

“I don’t need it.” She shook her head. “I have… a different idea.”

“If you say so.” The man shrugged.

When Sophie smiled, there was something different in her eyes.

* * *

There was nothing at the thrift store that really matched what Sophie wanted. She ended up going with a lot of leather. A read leather jacket, black leather pants, black combat boots, black fingerless gloves. And somehow, a red frilly skirt to go over it. It was a bit flashy for what she wanted, something that felt so ostentatious and strange, but it worked.

The red face paint was a last-minute impulse buy too. 

Sophie was a little surprised when Emma picked up and agreed to babysit Gigi for the night.

“She’ll eat almost anything,” Sophie promised. “She’s a really easy kid to handle, thank you so much-”

“It’s fine,” Emma dismissed, waving her hand through the air. “It’ll be fun. Like a sleepover.” She gave Gigi a wink that made her giggle. She looked up at Sophie. “What’s got you out all of a sudden? A hot date?”

Sophie shook her head and chuckled. “Something like that.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. “You know, I heard through the grapevine that they’re breaking the Joker out again tonight.”

“Are they?” Sophie said blandly. “I don’t really follow that stuff.”

Either Sophie was an awful liar, or Emma was sharper than she seemed. “You’re a lot braver than I could ever be, Dumond.” There was a look of awe and respect on Emma’s face.

Sophie could only smile. “We’ll see.”

With a goodbye to Gigi, Sophie ended up back at her apartment, painting her face. 

How did Arthur choose such an iconic look so easy? Sophie washed and repainted her face at least a half a dozen times, trying to find something that felt right.

Finally, Sophie ended up leaning into the jester look, with long diamonds painted over her eyes, her lips drawn out, and four small diamonds in the shape of one on her cheek. 

It looked ridiculous with the outfit. Which was the point, wasn’t it?

Sophie smiled to herself in the mirror. The smile fit the insanity of the outfit.

* * *

At ten o’clock, Sophie was in the back of an armoured truck, surrounded by clown masks.

“Now there’s a look.” It was the same voice, the same clown from before. “You’ve got gut, girl.”

Sophie glanced at him. “Thank you.”

He nodded and turned to the rest of the group. “You all know the drill. Get in, kill any guards, and get him out.”

There were nods all around. 

The rest of the bumpy ride was somewhat silent, save for the clicks of guns being checked and loaded. A young girl sitting next to Sophie wouldn’t stop swinging around a butterfly knife, humming to herself.

“What’s your name?” She asked, looking at Sophie.

Sophie blinked, staring at her. “I haven’t… I haven’t figured that out yet.”

The girl’s giggle was as childish as it was terrifying. “I’m Duela Dent.” She tapped the edges of her plastic mask absent-mindedly. “Wearing his face feels like an honour, you know? Why won’t you wear it?”

“I’d rather honour him in other ways,” Sophie answered honestly. “He’d understand.”

Duela’s head cocked to the side. “Would he?”

Sophie nodded. “I knew him. Before… this.”

“Well for your sake, I hope he remembers you,” Duela said, eyes flashing behind the mask.

Sophie tried to find an answer, but a different clown spoke. “You all might want to hold on. Here comes the fun part.”

There was enough time for Sophie to hold onto her seat before the truck slammed itself through the metal gate of Arkham Asylum.

After that, it was unbridled chaos. 

Sophie stayed with the group, the gun tight in her hand against the sprays of blood and violence. She didn’t have to do much work, especially with Duela being more violent than the rest of them combined. It was almost concerning, but Sophie didn’t linger on it. 

“Here, this one!” One of the clowns shot the lock off of room door. The pause in action gave Sophie a moment to take in the scene of Arkham as the door swung open. It was a sterile, white place. Without the blood and bodies, it would’ve been even more depressing than a barren apartment. 

Funny, how the places made to hold the insane had the conditions to drive them even more insane.

“Your Highness,” a clown said, stepping aside to let Arthur step out.

Arthur looked… well, he looked like the Joker. How he got away with the face paint and his colourful suit in an insane asylum, Sophie had no idea. But she did know, finally seeing him in the Joker get-up in person, just how much it really suited him.

“Thank you,” Arthur started to say, but then his eyes fell on Sophie. He paused, blinking hard and fast as if he wasn’t even really sure she was there. “Sophie?”

Sophie smiled at him. Instead of saying anything, she rose her hand and made a gun with it. With two fingers against her temple, she pulled the trigger of her thumb and blew the air out of her mouth.

The smile the split across Arthur’s face was intoxicating and contagious.

“Let’s go,” Arthur said, sounding oddly dazed. 

Sophie led the way by Arthur’s side out of Arkham, sharing looks with him at every calm moment they got. He wouldn’t stop looking at her like he was waiting for her to disappear.

When they got to the open doors of the entrance, a single guard drew his gun and pointed it at Arthur.

The gunshot that went off, the splatter of blood, the buck of the gun in Sophie’s hair was spectacular. The guard only laid there, dead in his own pile of brain matter.

So that’s what that felt like. No wonder Arthur liked it. 

“Oh, I like you,” Duela sang, grinning at Sophie. “I thought you were gonna be all bark and no bite.”

Sophie shook her head. “Not even a little bit.”

As they reboarded the truck, it was Arthur’s hand that stuck out to help pull Sophie back inside. And when she sat down next to him, they never let go of each other, holding hands against the shaking of the truck. 

Sophie let her head thunk against the back of the truck and her eyes slipped shut for a blissful, beautiful smile.

* * *

Back at the warehouse, Arthur was still holding Sophie’s hand against the cheers and whoops when his people saw him. He smiled and bowed for them, but never let go of her hand.

“Your girl got a name, Joker?”

The shout was a faceless nobody from the crowd, but it caught Arthur’s attention and made him glance at Sophie, eyes glowing with warmth. “Well?”

Sophie looked out at them. Holding Arthur’s handing, being accepted by him as a new face to the crowd marked her as something special. Something they wouldn’t forget. Something she could never back down from. 

Somehow, that commitment didn’t scare her.

“Harlequin,” Sophie said, doing her own little curtesy to the crowd. The cheering it got made Sophie realise why Arthur played his part. The attention was worth every second.

The crowd dispersed, and Arthur pulled Sophie into a private room with a desk and a mess of guns and papers. It was almost hilariously professional, all things considered.

“Why did you come for me?” Arthur asked, the words falling out of his mouth. “Why did you-why would you-” he covered his mouth against a laughing fit. Sophie waited patiently for the painful laughter to stop and devolve into coughing. “Why?”

Sophie stared at him. “I don’t know. It felt right. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Arthur’s eyes flickered with hope. “You thought about me?”

“Of course I did, Arthur,” Sophie said. “You broke into my apartment.” She held up a hand against whatever apology he looked like he was about to give. “And you killed a guy on live television. And you started a movement.” Sophie let out a quiet sigh. “I don’t know what madness is, Arthur. But if that’s what you are, then that’s what I want to be with.”

The feeling of Arthur’s lips crashing against hers was startling. It wasn’t a perfect kiss by any means. It was smeared makeup and gnashing teeth, and possibly a bit of blood. 

Actually, no. It was perfect, wasn’t it? Sophie smiled against Arthur’s lips and only pulled him closer.

* * *

Her life didn’t actually change all that much. Sophie still went to work, still took Gigi to school. Some weekends and night though, she painted her face red and held Arthur’s hand as they sprayed the streets with blood. And sometimes, they just went on normal dates. It was surprising, how easily everyone had forgotten the face of Arthur Fleck without the makeup. And he even got along with Gigi perfectly.

Sophie’s face became known too, but the media didn’t yet have a name to put onto it. No one really seemed to be in too much of a rush to figure out who Sophie was, either. Instead, it was seen as sort of poetic. A queen for the king.

A Harlequin for a Joker.

It was nice, even. Seeing girls and woman dying their hair red and black, or painting little diamonds on their face. The smallest acts of rebellion, in Sophie’s name. 

But in the end, nothing really amounted the being with Arthur. That was what really made it worth it. He was kind and in Sophie’s opinion, definitely funny. Not every joke needed a perfect punchline to be worth the laughter. 

For as similar as Sophie and Arthur were though, they were oddly different. 

Arthur fell into madness. It happened so fast and violently for him. The world treated him like shit, so he spat the shit back right in their face. He was walking proof that everyone was only really one bad day away from snapping. And oh how hard could a person snap. 

Sophie didn’t snap. For her, it was slow. A soft, sweet song she learned to dance to on her own time. Her madness was a choice that she made. Not because the world spited her, but because she spited herself with the life she chose. Because she wanted a way out of the mundane cycle.

From all of the chaos, Sophie did learn one thing she was absolutely sure of though. Some people were dragged into the descent of madness, but some open the door and welcome it in. And that, for some reason, seemed to put a smile on her face. 

Because no matter which happened, madness always seemed to come. The song always played, and sooner or later, everyone would learn to dance to it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Does a Duela Dent cameo make sense in this universe? Nope. Did I do it anyway? Yep. If anyone knows who Duela Dent is, pls sound off in the comments I know I didn't do it for nothing. My dumb rabid child deserves more love.


End file.
